


Revenge - the Art of Getting Even

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 02:09:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon should have realized that dressing Illya in a bunny suit was bad idea.  He just didn't realize how bad.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge - the Art of Getting Even

Napoleon Solo woke feeling very cramped and very hot.  He knew immediately that he was upright and bound hand and foot.  Letting an eyelid drift open ever so slightly didn’t change perceptively the darkness around him.  The first thing he realized was that he was stuffed into a barrel of some sort.  There was a little room for movement, but damned little.

Napoleon frowned and tried to think back on recent events.  He remembered visiting Illya in Medical where the Russian was recovering from a broken leg.  His partner was grumpy, in obvious discomfort, and determined to make the most out of both of the situations.  Nellie hovered in the background, keeping Napoleon’s teasing to a minimum and watching over her charge.

Napoleon remembered sipping coffee and talking about Bermuda and his time there and then he remembered being sleepy.  Had THRUSH invaded UNCLE HQ?  If not, what was this?

He shifted slightly and noticed that his jacket was gone and replaced by something different, something constricting, almost like a strait jacket.  He knew from the sheer lack of weight beneath his arm that his gun was gone as well.  It didn’t matter.  Napoleon Solo did not need a gun to effect an escape.  Not while he had his wits and his determination.  There was some play in the ropes that bound him and he started to work at them with his tingling fingers.  

Abruptly, his prison shifted and he realized it was moving, rumbling slightly and he returned to his bonds, determined to be free and ready to take advantage of the first opportunity for escape.  He could hear voices, but they were too muffled to make out any exact words.

As he tugged at the knots -- whoever tied them certainly had known what they were doing -- he became aware that his pants were gone, replaced by something else… something half familiar, but nothing he could readily identify.    He pushed that thought aside and returned to the knots.  

There was more noise now… a crowd?  That could work to his advantage.  Even while THRUSH wasn’t hesitant to shoot innocents, they did provide more of a cover.  

He shook free of the ropes and got his feet beneath him.  It felt like he was standing on some sort of grating that cut into his feet, but he ignored the mild discomfort and bide his time.  Eventually they would make a mistake.

He could hear music now, tinny, poorly-reproduced music and there was more noise, yelling and some singing.  Whatever was going on, it sounded raucous and he could use that to his advantage as well.  

A crack of light appeared above his head and he braced his feet.  A thin line appeared and he sprang up, pushing against the lid of the barrel with all his weight.

And stopped dead at the applause and cheering.  He looked around, immediately recognizing the interior of one of UNCLE’s larger meeting rooms and the faces of several of the women in the room.  Women he had dated on and off… and then he happened to look down.  

Napoleon Solo was a man of culture, poise and considerable polish.  And he had a large vocabulary that included several languages, all of which he used as he started swearing while the women continued to applaud and cheer.

 

Nellie walked into the small room, still laughing.  From his position in bed, Illya beamed at her.  “A success, I take it?”

“That really was devious, Illya. Stuffing him into an engagement party cake was ingenious.  They kept shouting for him to take his clothes off… such as they were.  At least he was a good sport about it, but remind me not to get on your bad side.”  She helped him sit forward and started to plump up his pillows.  “Poor Napoleon turned about every color in the rainbow.  I don’t know how you managed to do all of that while in traction with a broken leg.”

“Never underestimate your opponent.  That was Napoleon’s first mistake.  And never, ever underestimate his ability to wait you out.  Napoleon will think twice before putting me in a pink bunny outfit again.  Besides.”    Illya sat back against the pillows and grimaced.  “I though he looked rather good in a Merry Widow and fishnet stockings.  He certainly has the legs for it.”

“Speaking of such, it’s time for you and your leg to get a little sleep.”  She lifted a hypodermic from a tray and tapped it before injecting it into his bicep.  “Pleasant dreams.”

“Oh, they will be.  Just do me a favor, Nellie, don’t let Napoleon in my room until he’d cooled down a bit.”  Illya settled back and closed his eyes and smiled again, already starting to drift off.  “Very nice legs indeed…”

 

 

 

 


End file.
